you are the high above and the depth below, up in clouds and down in mud, there’s no in between… you survive in the upmost of beings… never a wounded amourous, surviving all denseness of circumstances.
O lovely scent! O petals!
Silent… how silent the Wind!
like a passing wind
a puzzle a conundrum…
a tear, a smile, a water lily
a few facts…
a thunderous lightning
a horse power of courage
her voice wanders
in the silence of her being.
A spring dew of freshness, her thoughts defining languages… never fail to enchant the bussing bees, like readers hungering for more. Swagatika Samantaray, a writer un poéte supérieure, the un-match 13 age young when she started writing during their school poetry competition… she wrote about a grade 9 boy, who escaped the tragic massacre because his alarm clock failed to wake him up for school. “When I sink deep into the whirlpool of empty feelings, I pick up my pen and write… an incident that stirs me from inside, makes me write.”
Asked about Life: she says, “The fine line of separation between your shadow and the blazing sunlight might portray life for isn’t darkness and light together make life? ‘The seven Ages’ of Shakespeare shows life is nothing but a play that starts and ends at childhood (senility as the second childhood). Of course it is, more of a never ending journey life is, where death is but a mere landmark. Some say ‘Fame is the food that a dead man eats’; doesn’t that mean that there is a life beyond death? Enlighten others while you are alive and let the imprints of your noble work enlighten the fallen, after death hugs you.
Asked about Love: she says, “The sweet smell a flower gives after it is crushed, well isn’t that love? The burning desire to burn just to give the other light, isn’t that love? The moment you know that your numbered heartbeats are outnumbered by the thoughts of the other, that’s when you know you are in love. Love is often polluted with the frame of two souls entwined in the whirlpool of lust and desire. Well, mortal brains can never squeeze the vastness of this little word.
“Come close and let the breaths whisper..
Look at me, let each eye Pierce into the other…
Touch not an inch, talk not of love,
For lust shall come, the soul it will rob…
No, feel this with your eyes, not with your skin,
Dance with me in the rain, while the clouds grin;
Come on, let the rain calm down the burning fire,
For this is the love, that love has not found so far.”
Asked about Peace: she says, “I don’t think peace is all music and silence. It is but the tranquility sealed lips in the tsunami of yearning and complaints. It is but the eye of the storm, calm but powerful. “I will tell God everything” was the last line said by a boy who was tortured to death. In the world we live, half of the population dies for an apple and the other half dies to eat it. You want to know what is peace- it is what that the rich doesn’t put in his banks, it is what that the hungry eats, it is what that sometimes cannot be owned in silence, but in the crowds. It seems like the ruined debris of sluttish time has pieced peace. The peaceful life that you are living, is but a luxury and prayer for someone else. Make sure you value it and have discovered the inner peace before you find it in the promises of the graveyard.
Asked what when she has that ‘sigh of smile’: “I don’t know what gifted talents I have. I don’t know if I have any or if humanity has ever been benefited by it. But the ‘sigh of smile’ often comes to me after I have lent my shoulder to soak the tears of the pain and struggle of anybody. It comes after I have given the best of my effort to restore the curve of smile in the face of those, whom life has gifted rusted pimples of struggle and dry lips. And the feeling of completeness bestows when I feel that I am the reason of someone’s happiness.
Asked when the feeling of ‘detachment: “In the dead hours of the night, alone in the terrace bathed by the moon or when a thick blanket of clouds roar above me and I suck every fold of it with the divine rain or when solitude takes over me and I am left with the feeling of nothing, that’s when I feel that feeling of self-detached. Every cell of me acts as a cell for me. I long to arouse from cemented debris of bone and flesh and merge into the air. I yearn to be that ‘NOTHING’ present in ‘EVERYTHING’. That feeling of omni-sansness (omni in the context of everything, and sans in the context of nothing or void) takes over me and while my physical being time travels to the future, I am left behind, stuck in the tentacles of ‘detachment’ and ‘emptiness’.
Asked about her roots: “My roots are negative, I suppose. I write when I feel pain, when I melt within myself. Whether it moulds my being or I mould the aura of negativity I don’t know.
“Have you ever felt this feeling?
This feeling of feeling nothing.
Your loud cries piercing the heart of silence,
Loneliness testing the patience of your patience.
Heavy are your breaths, heavier are the beats,
You scream so loudly but couldn’t hear your screams.
You shiver and shake , every inch, every fold;
Your tears are warm your veins are cold.
With the death of the sun, the feeling grows,
That ‘nothing’ mortem everything and no one knows.
So tell me, o’ tell me , hey you I say,
Have you felt like this, that I feel everyday”
Succumb my desires and empty my thoughts
Inch down closer, no ‘and’s’ no ‘but’s’
Behold my eyes, the tears need to roll
Behind my cheek into my burning soul
Entwine the fingers, let the hearts melt
Dream our dreams, the beats can wait
Life, love, peace rise- above their ashes
Look beyond sight, Exist beyond existence.
Copyright: swagatika samantaray 2019
In the frozen aroma of slain memories,
She had built an igloo with moments from diaries.
The hedonic rhythm of his heart’s beat,
Still echoed in her, though an age had died since their last meet.
The dried black petals questioned the redness of the rose,
The tattered paper had digested the promises and vows.
A new mole had appeared on the moon’s face,
But her love hadn’t aged an atom or less.
Even the wettest cell of her eye had dried,
The vapours of love, still limpid and bona-fide.
‘No calendar can bring him back’ they said,
But the surgery made his heart beat inside her, so how can he be dead????
One day when the time would have calmed
I would be sitting there besides the blue…
Watching the waves rising and dying,
Holding the sand and thinking about you…..
The breeze would blow away the sand,
But couldn’t touch the printed memories…
My eyelashes would be wet, as the past will melt,
And your image would make my heart go freeze…
And then the sky would turn violent,
And black clouds would start grinning…
The waves would roar, hitting the shore,
But I would be still there calmly sitting….
A heart stabbed brutally, a soul hurt roughly,
Would not complain about the stormy rain….
With melting eyes I would be only comparing,
Which would be saltier, my tears or the main..
And then the sea would exponentially enlarge,
And the awful waves would engulf me..
My lungs would be blocked, choking my breaths,
I would then kiss death, from life I would be free.
swagatika samantaray 2019
comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand
critical analysis by: Cijo Joseph Chennelil
to follow upon publication